


Arouse

by snarkmcsnark



Series: Miguel Galindo/Reader One-Shots [3]
Category: Mayans M.C. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Porn With Plot, Reader-Insert, Sex, Sexual Content, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:54:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21542554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkmcsnark/pseuds/snarkmcsnark
Summary: It's the summer of 2009 in Santo Padre. Your girl friends convince you to stop grieving over a boy that broke your heart six months ago, and join them at the annual carnival. You soon realize there's no better way to get over a cheating ex and feel great about yourself than meeting a hot, mysterious man you're likely never going to see again.
Relationships: Miguel Galindo/Reader
Series: Miguel Galindo/Reader One-Shots [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1186400
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	Arouse

_Summer of 2009 - Santo Padre, CA_

* * *

A blur of neon lights swirl across your eyes as the brass and accordion swell with the sounds of Santo Padre’s annual summer fair. The desert air tastes like cotton candy with a heat that surprises you in the back of the throat. It’s customary when La Feria’s in town that you and everybody’s cousin come out to gorge on elote and tacos, ride rollercoasters on rickety tracks, and watch people in this dying town momentarily forget they live in this dying town.

Your best friends are all about tradition, and as much as you hate to admit it, so are you. So you indulge and join them, because, really, anything is better than spending another Friday evening home alone, wallowing in sadness over your cheater of an ex-boyfriend. It’s been six months, but it still stings — like a papercut that refuses to heal. Why would it when you insist on picking at it with questions of whether you should have followed him to San Diego instead of staying here to work at your tío’s restaurant? You think moving out there would have solved the distance problem, which caused the unwanted celibacy problem, which made every college-aged girl an irresistible temptation in your ex’ eyes. _He can’t help it; he has needs._ It’s tough when you know he’s wrong, but you still blame yourself for not doing enough to keep him happy.

You’ve never been at your best when threatened with the fear of being alone.

—

The crowd grows denser as you pass through the stretch of colourful carnival games. Desperate for cool relief, you wrap your hands around your hair sticking to the back of your neck. A cool breeze rushes up the length of your spine, and you close your eyes, savouring the sensation before it’s gone. When you open your eyes, the first and only thing in focus is a face so sharp and crystal clear that everything else blurs into the background. You hold his smouldering gaze. You follow every line and every curve of his face, memorizing the slope of his nose and the mischievous curl on the corner of his lips. That steady thrum of a heartbeat drowns out the noise, and time has conspired to stand still for just the two of you.

Until you hear your name. You break the stare, ducking your head as hair falls over your flushed face. Someone takes your hand, and it takes a second before you realize it’s your friend dragging you farther into the crowd. “What’s wrong with you?” She laughs, totally indifferent to what had just happened. “It’s like you’ve seen a ghost.”

—

As the night deepens from a haze of purple to black, you go through the motions of listening patiently to stories you’ve heard before. You love your girls, but your head’s not present in the moment. You try not to give yourself away, but you’re searching through the throngs of people, hoping to catch a glimpse of that man in the blue shirt. Maybe your eyes were playing tricks on you; maybe it was just a mirage of a gorgeous man. God knows you’ve been thirsting for affection from the opposite sex. As much as you hate to admit it, your ex-boyfriend had a point — long distance relationships are nearly impossible because you lose that ability to have sex whenever you desire. It’s frustrating. And ever since you broke up with him and blamed yourself for simultaneously not doing enough and doing too much for someone who didn’t deserve it, the frustration has only grown tenfold.

You’ve tried. You’ve gotten close with your own fingers, but you’ve just never gotten to that place. Last week, you agreed to go on a date with an old acquaintance from high school before you chickened out when he asked you if you wanted to cap off the night in his apartment. You’ve always been known to go after what you want but, lately, it all feels as if there’s nothing worth wanting.

Except a strawberry-chile raspado.

—

The man scoops shaved ice into a plastic cup and prepares your treat right in front of you. Your mouth waters at the mere thought of the sweet and spicy flavours on your tongue and the refreshing ice down your throat.

“Dos piñas, por favor.”

The voice is warm and deep like thick honey poured into a glass of intoxicating amber. A flash of blue creeps into your periphery, and you find yourself standing shoulder to shoulder with, what you thought was, your desert mirage.

He looks straight ahead, just as fascinated as you were moments earlier, but this time you’ve got something new requiring your utmost concentration. You study him from the corner of your eye, noting his clean-shaven face and his genetically-blessed bone structure. He’s well-dressed — almost too well-dressed for La Feria — but he carries himself with so much confidence that he doesn’t look out of place. He’s got a boyish charm to his features, but the lines on the corner of his eyes suggest he’s older than you, but not by much — maybe in his late 20s.

“Aquí está su fresa y chile, señorita.”

He smells really good, too. Like being cloaked in expensive leather while sitting in front of a crackling fire in a log cabin nestled deep in the Northern California woods.

“Your raspado,” the stranger says, while handing you the plastic cup with the domed scoop of red shaved ice.

“Sorry. Thank you.” You say quickly, taking the cup from his hands, skin stirring upon contact. A little bit of the ice falls onto the back of his hand. “Shit. I’m so sorry.” You grab a stack of paper napkins on the counter to help wipe it off, but he’s already ahead of you, placing his hand to his mouth and licking the trail of sweet, red juice. Not once does he stop staring at you.

Suddenly, the thought of submerging your body in a vat of shaved ice doesn’t sound all that terrible. It’s boiling hot, your cheeks are burning, and your limbs feel so loose, they’re melting. Your heart races. Your breath quickens. It’s been a while since you’ve genuinely had this feeling but you recognize it straight away. You’re aroused.

—

“Holy shit!” Your friend manages to yell and whisper at the same time. “What was that? You and that guy were totally eye-fucking back there.”

“What?” You scoff. “We were not.”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you have to find out.” She pushes you back in the direction of the food stall, where he’s still waiting for his order. “Go!”

“No way!”

“Why not?”

“Because he ordered two drinks so he’s probably getting it for his girlfriend or his _wife_.”

“Nope.” Your friend says, crossing her arms over her chest. She nods in their direction, and you look over your shoulder to see the man hand one pineapple shaved ice over to his mother. “Awww, isn’t that so sweet? Total hubby material.”

“Lorena,” you warn her.

“You’re so into him.”

“Cállate.”

She rolls her eyes and flips her long, dark hair over her shoulders. “Ay, maybe you should let him fuck all that negative energy out of you.”

You playfully shove her and make a disgusted face, but in your head you’re thinking that may not be the worst idea in the world.

—

You love your girl friends but you also want nothing more than to kill them in this moment. The teasing is relentless. And now that they’ve caught onto you being “hot for the hot guy”, they’re making a conscious effort to stalk him around the carnival. You follow him a few feet away as he walks the fairgrounds with his mother, your heart warming as he places a hand on the small of her back to guide her through the crowds.

She pulls him toward a line for a ride. He puts his hands up and looks like he’s telling her it’s a bad idea, but she insists, smiling brightly at her son. As soon as they fall in line, your friends are dragging you to the same ride of spinning, vomit-inducing cars.

He doesn’t even notice you’re standing right behind him until your friends start giggling, pretty much giving away the fact that you’ve been following him all night. The stern expression on his face softens and he smiles at you and your friends, before turning back to his mom to place an arm around her shoulder.

As you approach the gate to the ride, his mother steps out of line. “No, no creo que pueda hacer esto.”

“Mamá, esta fue tu idea.”

“Lo sé,” She says as she takes another step back, looking over her shoulder like she’s in search of something or someone. “Pero no puedo, _Miguel_.”

“Mamá.”

“No. You stay in line. You’re already the next one to go,” she tells him with motherly authority. “Encontraré a tu padre.”

Miguel hesitates to follow her but stops when he sees her flanked by two burly men in black. He breathes a sigh of relief and shakes his head, and a seed of doubt plants firmly deep in your belly. You already know he’s not from around here, but something in your gut tells you he isn’t supposed to be here either.

The alarm bell rings and the gate opens. As the tide rushes in, you hear the faint laughter of your friends standing on either side of you. They exchange a knowing look and, in hindsight, you should’ve known they had something up their sleeves. As you near the brightly-coloured two-person cars, you feel a nudge toward a very specific red car decorated with metallic gold lightning bolts.

“What are you doing?” Panic rising in your voice.

“Trust us,” they say as they practically shove you into the tiny space next to the man you and your friends have been stalking all night. Before they abandon you to a slow death, one of your friends leans into your ear. “You’ll thank us later.”

Neither of you say a word as people climb aboard the cars and the outdated speakers make their choppy safety announcement in both English and Spanish. Arms and legs in the car at all times. Seat belts securely fastened. Eyes straight ahead so you can pretend the sexiest guy you’ve ever laid eyes on isn’t studying you with a morbid, heated curiosity.

“What?” You blurt out. “Do I have something on my face?”

Miguel chuckles but doesn’t answer the question, leaning back into the seat to look straight ahead.

The ride starts like a gentle cycle — slow rotations around a pole smattered in multi-coloured, seizure-inducing lights. As if a traffic light signalling GO, green flashes before your eyes just as you feel that first contact of skin. The back of his fingers brush along your thigh. They linger even as rainbow bursts into vision and the ride picks up speed.

As you spin in circles, metal tentacles raise you high up in the air and drop you in stomach-turning speed back to earth. The first time the sudden drop hits you, your hand grabs onto his knee. You’re about to let go (even if you don’t _really_ want to) when he turns his head to face you. Miguel’s shaking his head. Streaks of neon burning brightly behind the sly smile.

It emboldens you and you grip tighter, your hand rising higher up his leg. He follows your lead, fingers tracing the top of your thigh, dancing hotly over smooth skin, pressing down with every sudden drop. The tips of his fingers disappear under the hem of your short dress, teasing you and making you ache for him to go that extra distance. But he doesn’t. Not yet.

His eyes are molten chocolate, fixed on yours like he’s daring you to go even further. You don’t know if it’s the ride or the man in front of you, but you’re dizzy, your stomach feels light as air, your nipples are sharp points poking through the thin material of your dress, and your panties are soaked.

The ride slows down like a spinning coin flopping on one side. And it’s over just like that. Miguel pulls away, head looking straight on and hands nowhere near your body. You miss him already — the way he touched you, the way he looked at you, the way his breath kissed your face you could almost taste his sweetness.

When the ride finishes, you’re both breathing a little heavy. You think this is the point he runs, never to be seen again. Instead, he surprises you when he takes your hand and helps you hop off your red thunderbolt. He ushers you down the line of people leaving the ride and, momentarily, you spot your friends just outside past the gates. You begin to raise your arm to wave in their direction, but he pulls you the opposite direction before your friends have a chance to see you.

Everything you’ve ever been taught about strangers and avoiding dangerous situations fly out of the window when this man is holding your hand and leading you into a white canvas tent. Miguel unzips it, guides you in, follows you inside, and zips it closed until you’re swallowed by darkness.

You don’t even have time to ask him what’s going on before you feel a pair of strong hands on your waist, pulling you flush against him. Immediately, you become aware of the fact that the arousal you felt on that ride was shared unequivocally with this man right in front of you. He’s hard. He’s pressed up against your body and he’s turned on because of _you_ — and if that doesn’t make your body ache in need for him, surely a kiss will.

Miguel’s lips find yours in the dark. Warm and soft and pliant — he searches to be satiated. You wrap an arm around his neck, deepening the kiss, pulling him backwards until you bump clumsily into an equipment crate. He lifts you and settles you on top, positioning himself between your open legs.

Hot kisses pepper your neck, and he asks if this is ok. And you want to scream that it’s more than ok, but all that comes out is a catlike stretch to expose your neck and a throaty “yes.”

Hands explore your hips, your back, gripping your neck before gently tugging at hair. Miguel’s a mix of tender and rough. A mix of beauty and danger.

You kiss along his jaw until you find his mouth. Your tongue swirls with his. Your fingers trail along the edge of his jeans to pop off the button, shimmying them down his thighs, which feel sinewy with muscle under your touch. “Eager,” he says with a quiet laugh, almost as if he’s mocking you. But you don’t care because you know he wants you just as much. You can feel the weight of him pressing against your inner thigh, and you scoot just a little bit closer, squeeze just a little bit tighter.

He hikes up your little dress to your waist, one hand reaching higher to cop a feel of your tit, thumbing your nipple into a stiffer peak. Next, panties are off so quick, they drop from your ankles onto the floor — gone forever. Whoever finds them when the lights are on is going to be in for a surprise.

Fingers are on you, in you. You gasp at the sudden breach but you savour it like every morsel of the best meal you know you’ll ever have. He breathily laughs into your kiss as he discovers just how wet and wanton you are, like he can read your mind and figure out how long you’ve gone without this kind of intimacy. You moan when he slides his coated digits across your sex, thumb and forefinger manipulating you to a level of arousal you don’t think was ever humanly possible.

You’re seeing bright lights dance across your shuttered eyes. The work he’s doing is testing your limits not to scream, but you don’t think the carnival music is loud enough to drown out all the noise your body is begging you to make. So you repress. And he only works harder. You’re panting now. Sweat beads at your temples as he retrieves his fingers and runs them over your lips like a hot glaze. Without words, he orders you to take them into your mouth. It’s so fucking dirty, but you secretly love it. Your taste on your tongue, you take his two fingers deep in your mouth, gagging when he hits the back of your throat.

Miguel is quick to kiss you fierce. “You’re so fucking hot in this little dress.” He kisses you again, tongue darting out to wrestle with yours. “I bet you had no idea what you were getting yourself into when you were fucking me with those eyes out in public.” He sucks on your bottom lip. “So naughty. I could tell you wanted to hold more than just my knee on that ride.” He grinds his clothed erection against your sex and you both moan in anticipation. “You think the ride’s over? Baby, I’m about to give you the best fucking ride of your life.”

In seconds, he’s got his underwear off, a condom ripped open, and the tip of his cock probing at your entrance. He kisses you longer and harder, and just enough to stifle the moan when he enters your tight heat. It’s been a while since you last got fucked, but even then, you know you’ve never been stretched full like this, never had someone reach you in places that surprised you. “Fuck me.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do.” Miguel rocks into you, settling himself down to the base and breathing out a “holy shit.”

Scooting yourself to the edge of the crate, you wrap your legs around his hips. He grabs a handful of your ass, kneading the flesh before pulling you completely off the edge. And, _holy shit_ is right, because he delivers on that promise to give you the best ride of your life.

He lifts you effortlessly, rising and crashing down on his cock. You wrap your arms firmly over his shoulders, grasping onto his back, feeling the muscles work under his shirt. His breath is hot on your neck, hot grunts matching the breathy moans you can’t contain. You’re already so aroused that it doesn’t take very long before the relentless pounding and the way he’s sucking on your neck and the filthy words in your ear take you over the edge. Your whole body is electrified. It feels like you’re shaken from your core and everything is tighter and looser at the same time.

Miguel groans as he feels your release wrapped around him, and it seems like he’s coming close as well. He plants you down on the equipment crate, and leans over you, forearms on either side of your head. His eyes are so intense they scorch you; it almost feels as if, in that moment, he’s branding you like cattle. Something about the way he looks at you hurts your pride, but you love the way he feels too much to push him away. He fucks you. Harder. He fucks you so good tears well up behind your lidded eyes. Faster. Your belly tightens like a coil put under so much pressure it can only spring free. Deeper. He buries himself deep, deep inside you; he kisses you gentle and sweet while his fingers brush over your clit. It releases the pressure and you’re crashing again — this time, with him as you feel his heart pound like a drum against your chest.

—

When it’s all over, it’s over. Miguel doesn’t say anything except you should leave first. Once you’ve pulled your dress down your legs and tied your knotted hair with an elastic, he unzips the tent and motions for you to leave. The light from outside filters into the tent and you get a clearer picture of his stoic face. You stand in place for a few seconds and he blinks with impatience. You want to see him again, but you’re under a very strong, chilly impression this was only a one-time thing for him. That, maybe, it’s something he’s already regretted.

You lower your head and begin to walk past him. This night was incredible. A night to ruin all the succeeding nights trying to find something that can even come close to replicating what you felt in that dark, dingy tent. But you deserve better. You deserve someone who can return what you give. And, just from the distant look in his eyes those last few seconds together, you know Miguel is not going to be that someone.

He doesn’t even bother asking you for your name.


End file.
